Sadie is staring up into his eyes, clearly completely taken in. “I just . . .” Rachel hears her say, and then her lips move again with words that she can’t quite catch. Kas nods, and for a moment their faces are so close that Rachel thinks they are going to kiss. A light shudder runs down her back. She’s spying on them, doesn’t want to see this, but she can’t move.
But in the end Kas just smiles and straightens up slightly, smoothing Sadie’s hair back behind her ears, and then keeping one hand each side of her head, keeping her in place.
“For now I can only say this,” he says. “That if you were to stop coming here I would be sorry. And that your feelings are not only your own.”
Whatever the hell that means, Rachel thinks, but Sadie seems satisfied with it, dropping her gaze to the floor and nodding, a smile playing around her lips. Incredibly, it’s as if she has got exactly what she wants from this exchange. She isn’t disillusioned or angry; the news that Kas has a wife has been taken in, evaluated, and dismissed all in the space of five minutes. And the way she’s reacting isn’t like her at all. She’s never seen her sister look so—she gropes for the word—submissive. There’s no fight or resistance in her body; she’s pliable, apparently quite happy to have this man’s hands on her and to believe every word that comes out of his mouth.
It’s only now, watching this, that Rachel realizes she’s wasting her time. There is no point in trying to control her sister. She’ll do what she wants, with whom she wants, no matter what Rachel says or thinks or does. There’s a sense of things shifting inside her: a weight lifting, but an emptiness, too.
Quietly, she slips along the corridor by the wall and hurries to the exit, though she knows they are too absorbed in each other to notice her. She grabs her coat from the cloakroom and walks back to the car in the light rain, her head bowed. She’ll sit there until Sadie reappears, and then she’ll take her home, but she won’t be coming back to the club. Her sister is on her own.
SADIE
1999
In the heat and dark of the corridor, their faces almost touching, she understands him perfectly. He’s saying that their feelings are the same. That he wants her as much as she wants him, even if it can’t happen. For now.
Mutely, she nods, and she’s seized by the fervent desire to get away from him, because she doesn’t want to shatter the unspoken perfection of this moment. She senses that it won’t get any better than this, and so she pulls away and walks slowly back to the dance floor, her limbs aching, a sweet dizziness spreading across her temples and sending the room reeling.
She’s in the thick of the crowd again, her body moving to the music, the sweat trickling down her face, when she sees Dominic across the room. He’s not alone. He’s listening to a woman beside him, a woman with long wavy hair falling down the length of her bare back, who’s talking, leaning in close to him. She watches, never taking her eyes away from them until she sees the other woman turn from Dominic and stalk away toward the basement stairs.
Sadie picks her way to Dominic, reaching his side and raising her voice above the thumping music. “Is that her, then?” she asks airily. She can be this way with Dominic—flippant, challenging. She knows very well that telling Rachel was his way of telling her, indirectly, just to test her reaction.
Dominic smirks. “She was asking about you, funnily enough,” he says. “How I know you, how old you are . . .” He pauses. “If you have a boyfriend.”
Sadie mirrors Dominic’s detached expression, setting her jaw in a hard, uncompromising line, but her stomach is churning with excitement. This means something. For Kas’s wife to have noticed her, to have bothered to try to find out more, she must see her on some level as a threat. “What did you say?” she asks.
“Not a lot. I’ve not got a clue about your—love life.” The last words are ironically laced, framed by invisible quotation marks. “How would I know if you have a boyfriend or not?”
“I don’t.” As she speaks, Sadie realizes that she hasn’t slept with anyone for almost two months now—the longest she’s ever gone without it since that first awkward night in the upstairs room of a local pub five years ago, when she was only fourteen. She’s had the opportunity, of course; could turn around right now if she wanted and catch the eye of some lingering lothario who’d be only too happy to step in and end the dry spell. It comes to her that she doesn’t want any of them, doesn’t want anyone except Kas. The knowledge steals her breath. This is different from anything she’s felt before. It’s all-consuming, terrifying. She barely knows this man, but she wants him so much that it feels as if her insides have been brutally scooped out, leaving her hollow with need. Tears are suddenly in her eyes, and she glances away.
When she looks back, Dominic is still watching her, his lips faintly curled in a smile. “You like Kas, don’t you?” he says eventually.
The phrasing strikes her as strangely coy. She shrugs and nods, meeting his gaze.
“Can he trust you?” Dominic says then, and there is a new sharpness in his voice. All at once it is as if Kas is there, glinting behind Dominic’s flat, emotionless eyes. She feels that she is being auditioned for a part she knows nothing about. The air is loaded with something she does not understand; some thickly cloying sense of compulsion and duty, of contracts and promises.
She turns the question over in her head. There is something secondhand about it, as if Kas’s needs and wants somehow render his own irrelevant. Dominic is staring at her, unblinking, his pale hands clenched lightly around his glass. She does not know what warrant she is signing by agreeing, but she finds herself nodding and saying yes. Yes, of course, he can trust me. And once it’s out, there is no taking it back.
* * *
• • •
LATER, SHE LOOKS BACK and sees that after those few words with Dominic at the bar, it all progresses with frightening speed and efficiency. At first it’s inconsequential—the occasional request that she keep an eye on the cloakroom, or take a few orders at the bar, and she’s flattered that they’re comfortable enough with her to ask. It’s only a couple of weeks later that Dominic beckons her into a corner of the club and passes her a small packet, tightly wrapped in silver foil. He names the sum he’s after, directs her toward a man across the dance floor, and thanks her casually when she trots back, cash in hand. Over the next few visits, she is passed several more of these parcels. She knows she’s acting as a go-between, a handy buffer to render the transaction harder to trace, but it doesn’t much bother her. She’s bought drugs herself many times, although she’s never sold them, and she can’t see that much difference between the two sides of the coin.
December 6th. She’s walking from the train station to the club through lit-up streets, Christmas lights twinkling and flashing across the night skyline, sparkling like cool, blue jewels in the branches of trees. Anticipation runs through her like fever. There is ice on the ground, and the pointed heels of her shoes slip and skid on the treacherous pavements. She is wearing a tight, black satin dress that pushes her breasts up like offerings, and she feels the frozen air lashing her bare legs, but inside she is burning. As she picks her way through the shining streets, she reaches into her bag and takes another pill. These days it seems that they barely dent her consciousness, but the habit persists.
She walks up to the front of the queue and nods at the bouncer. She doesn’t have to speak; they all know her by now, have been briefed that she is to be let in whenever she wants. She slips past the rope and smiles, seeing the jealousy in the eyes of the other girls in the queue; skimpily dressed, badly madeup, chewing gum or picking cheap nail polish off their fingernails. She knows Kas would never look twice at any of them. Going to the cloakroom window, she slips her jacket off her shoulders. The air in this anteroom is cold and sterile. She glances at her watch. It is just past ten, the time when the customers start pouring in and the room heats up. Anticipation rushes through her and she throws op
en the heavy black door, the music surging up and enveloping her as she moves forward, lights flashing and strobing above her head.
He’s there, of course, and she sees him straightaway. She has grown used to picking Kas out in a crowd; it’s as if he has his own personal spotlight, constantly trained on him wherever he goes. He’s leaning against the bar, his head tipped slightly back. Even at this distance she can sense a certain tension in the way he holds himself, as if he’s preparing himself to fight. As she comes closer she thinks she sees some warning in his eyes, behind the unnaturally reflective gleam that comes off them. He barely seems to see her at first, and for a brief moment her mouth fills with nervous saliva, tasting bitter and sharp. She swallows and steps closer. She doesn’t often approach him uninvited, but tonight she’s feeling reckless.
“Sadie,” he says, smiling, his perfect teeth flashing at her for an instant. His full attention is on her, flooding her with warmth. “I hoped I would see you tonight.”
“Did you?” she says, tossing her head. She knows her voice is level, even if she can feel her heart bumping against her ribs. While she is near him she feels herself become someone else, someone almost unrecognizable. She believes he likes this hardness in her—the sense that, like a glittering diamond, her beauty is the type that if used right could cut through whatever it touches. He admires a strong woman, she thinks, and so that is what she is when she is here. That is what she can be.
“Yes.” He reaches out and pulls a bar stool close to him, motioning her to sit next to him. Sadie smiles and sits, and in the same moment she sees Dominic, standing on the other side of the bar, swigging from a silver flask. She nods a greeting at him, but for once he does not respond. His gaze is intently on Kas and his closeness to her. For some reason, his lack of acknowledgment makes her shiver, as if someone has walked over her grave.
She drags her eyes back to Kas. He is leaning inwards, his breath strangely cool against her ear. “You could help me out with something a little different tonight,” he is saying, “if you wanted. Do you want to help me?”
Uncertainly, she nods. Kas has never asked her for anything directly before, and something in the question feels odd and unbalanced; she cannot think what she could possibly have that could be of use to him. He is very close now, and with an electric shock she feels one of his hands sliding lightly around her waist and the other coming up to cup her chin, twisting her face toward his. She can smell the sharp cinnamon scent she has come to associate with him, the merest echo of which can make her stop dead in the street, her whole body flooding with longing.
“I can trust you, Sadie,” he says. There is no hint of a question in his voice. He speaks with such assurance that she instantly thinks of Dominic and his strange, querying tone that night at the bar. She has the eerie sense that her words have been dutifully fed back, her name ticked off a list. She wants to reply, but her mouth is dry. The tips of his fingers are still resting underneath her chin, his thumb pressed hard against the line of her jaw.
He is silent a few moments before he speaks again, his voice quiet and low, so that she has to strain to hear. “There is a man coming here tonight,” he says. “He is not here yet, but he should arrive in about thirty minutes. His name is George Hart. You don’t know him. He doesn’t know you. Look.” Swiftly, he pulls a photograph from his pocket. A man of around forty, white and thickset, sandy hair cropped around his temples. The photo has been taken from some distance, across a parking lot. A prickle of instinctive knowledge tells her that the man has not been aware of its being taken.
“You see him?” Kas says. “You could pick him out?”
She stares at the man’s stocky frame, the good-natured set of his face. He is frozen in the act of unpacking a supermarket cart into the back of a car. “Yes,” she says.
“Good,” Kas says. “George and I have been working together. He is a good man, but we have some business to discuss. He has agreed to meet me here in the club tonight, but I need to talk to him in private, alone. You understand?” He is talking smoothly and confidently, barely pausing for her response. “I need you to approach him, and bring him to the basement stockroom—you know it. Then he and I can talk in peace. Do you understand?” he says again, and this time it is very definitely a question.
Sadie runs his words back in her head. Her mind feels fuzzy and amorphous, as if made out of cotton. “You can’t ask him yourself?” she says. “Why me?”
Kas shrugs, not taking his eyes from her face. “It is better that it does not come from me,” he says. “For reasons I do not understand, people are wary of being alone with me.” He shrugs elegantly and smiles, but the words send a chill down her spine. “And as for why I am asking you . . . well, surely that is obvious.” Now his gaze dips, deliberately sweeps her from top to toe, and despite the panic that is starting to throb inside her, she feels a sharp pang of desire. “You can get him there,” he says, the conviction in his voice like a caress. “I know you can.”
Sadie glances across the bar again. Dominic is still watching them. She looks back to Kas. “This business . . .” she says, licking her lips. “Is it—is it—” She realizes that she does not know exactly what she wants to ask.
“There is nothing for you to worry about,” Kas says soothingly. “We will talk, that is all, and then he will go. And after that . . .” He lets his words trail off, smiling. She can feel heat radiating off him; she breathes in the scent of him and it makes her head reel. For a brief moment, she shuts her eyes. In the temporary darkness it feels as if he is enclosing her, his presence everywhere at once. She is not stupid, and she knows that she is about to mix herself up in something she does not fully understand, but fiercer than her fear is the need to please him, to do what he wants. It sounds so simple, and it is within her power to do it.
“OK,” she says, hearing the word fall into the tiny space between them, and he smiles again, drawing back. She sees his muscles visibly loosening, releasing tension.
“Thank you,” he says. “Watch out for him, and bring him down when you can. I will be waiting.” He stands up, and turning, as if struck by impulse, he takes her hand and brings it to his lips. The touch only lasts a second, but as she watches him move away she feels it still burning on her skin.
* * *
• • •
SHE RECOGNIZES THE MAN at once. He looks out of place in this setting, dressed in a button-down blue shirt and a pair of workman’s jeans. Scanning the crowd, every now and then he takes a gulp of beer from his pint glass. Under the strobe lights, his hair is strawberry blond, and she can see a spread of freckles across his cheeks. He’s doing his best to look confident, but she can see a hint of wariness in the way he looks around, his eyes darting back and forth. As she slips closer to him, she sees him briefly suck in his lower lip and tug on it, blinking, before he takes another swift sip.
She is right next to him now, and she sees him notice her automatically, in the way that men usually do. “Been stood up?” she calls above the music. George Hart is not a tall man, but she tips her head back and looks up at him.
He swings round and stares at her. She can see that although his mind is elsewhere, he is flattered. “Not sure yet,” he says briefly.
“Well,” she says, slipping on to the stool next to him, “I’ll keep you company while you wait.”
He frowns, looking her over dubiously. He is double her age; an open, likable face, but nothing extraordinary. She holds her nerve. In her experience, most men are surprisingly easy to convince that they are stunningly attractive to women. It seems George Hart is no exception. She sees his face relax, and immediately she offers to buy him a drink. He asks for a whiskey and Coke this time, and as he knocks it back, his tongue loosens. He drops Kas’s name—“the boss man,” he calls him, vaguely waving his arm to encapsulate the club, and asks her if she knows him.
She shakes her head, but she cannot resist probing a li
ttle further. “Are you friends?” she asks.
George Hart shrugs nonchalantly. She sees a flicker of pride in his eyes. “You could say that,” he says. “Known him for a while. He asks me down here sometimes, like tonight—free entry, free drinks, you know? Seeing as he knows me. Been doing a bit of work for him, actually. Buying and selling? But as it goes,” he continues, “I’ve decided to knock it on the head.” He leans in, gazing at her with drunken sincerity. “Got a baby now, haven’t I, and it’s time to move on. Wash my hands of it.”
Uncertainly, she nods. “Does he know?” she asks.
For an instant George’s face looks haggard, doused in apprehension, and then his expression straightens. He waves a dismissive hand. “Nah,” he says, “but he’ll be OK.”
“Right,” she says automatically. Before she can stop herself, the thought flashes into her mind. He does know, she thinks. And that’s what he wants to talk to you about. For an instant, the words tremble on her lips. She looks at him. He reminds her of a kindly neighbor or a seldom-seen uncle; the kind of person she would normally treat with polite detachment and little more. A baby, she thinks. He has a baby. And even though she knows that this means nothing, really, that there must have been a dozen fathers or more who have slavered over her and been inside her, it somehow throws her off track. She does not want to touch him, and she does not want any part of this. Something is telling her to walk away.
She almost does it. And then she thinks of Kas down in the basement, waiting for her. She thinks of what he will say if she goes back on her word, and the look of disappointment that he will give her before he turns away from her, for the last time.
The Second Wife Page 9